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Friday, September 03, 2010

Lie to Me: No Problem

“Learn this recipe to trick her into thinking that you know how to cook.”-Feature article in a men’s magazine.

I have a confession to make. I’m not a movie producer. I don’t drive a Ferrari. My 85 foot yacht isn’t in dry dock for the winter. In fact, I don’t have a boat. I can’t even spell “yacht.” I had to look it up…both times I used it in this paragraph. It’s just that if I’m going to trick a woman into believing something about me that I made up I want it to be more impressive than chicken cacciatore. I want to bulldoze her with stories that would make Navy SEALs gasp in respectful fear. Like the time I killed a guard and escaped from a Guatemalan gulag while being held as a political prisoner, or the time I landed an airliner after the pilot had a heart attack.

I actually feel sorry for guys who have shot their way out of a Taliban ambush in Afghanistan because I’ve used that story so often that any real war heroes run the risk of boring women half-to-death with tales of their true exploits. They say the truth is stranger than fiction but when you make stuff up you have the advantage of using spell and grammar check. I can look up technical details on my iPhone while I excuse myself to go to the bathroom (I told you I was calling my CIA case officer).

To be completely honest, absolutely everything that I told you at the bar last night was bullshit and now that we’ve had sex I feel slightly guilty about how I presented myself. You have to admit, it was a pretty good story. I’m sure that if I were young and impressionable like you I would have done me last night. The flip side to that is that I would also beat the crap out of me right now for lying—and just about anyone could beat me up. I’m actually a total wimp.

I guess that I shouldn’t be too proud of my effort. It’s not like I adlibbed that whole persona. I’ve been working on a version of that story most of my adult life. If I had put 1/100 of the effort into actually improving myself instead of creating the phony me you met last night I’d probably be a remotely interesting person. Trust me; I’m not an even remotely interesting person. My fake identities are the moral and psychological equivalent of a young girl padding her bra. My phony personality is the 40D cup version of the padded bra.

Women tend to mask, enhance, and falsify their appearances while men make up crap. A girl wears a Wonder Bra while a man will walk with a fake limp from getting knee-capped by the IRA while on patrol in Belfast, Northern Ireland. Collagen lip injections for the ladies, stories of battling Somali pirates for the boys. The final progression in this relationship will be a blow-up doll sitting next to someone who isn’t even there.

5 comments:

Seriously, though. Chicks dig a guy who can cook something more complicated than a slab of meat over hot coals (how hard could that be?) I won't brag about how many times I scored by cooking for a girl at my place. Yes, wine, candles and music really do help too. I don't know what it is exactly, but chicks just throw down for good food. Maybe it has more to do with using expensive ingredients as evidence of a guy's ability to provide. I dunno.